


A Simple Challenge

by WattStalf



Series: it's just piss [23]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Desperation, F/M, Omorashi, Wetting, intentional desperation, male omorashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WattStalf/pseuds/WattStalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francesca has a fantasy she'd like to see realized, and somehow, Cutlass agrees to go along with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a stupid, kinky girl with my stupid OCs, and I can't help my behavior. This story features Cutlass and the Penalty (bios on my tumblr, mrs-comedian, /tagged/the_cavalry), in a sort-of relationship that I can assure you is not canon in the true story. Cutlass will be the only one wetting.

Why the hell had he agreed to this?

Why the fucking hell had he ever thought that agreeing to this would be a good idea? What choices had he made that had lead his life up to the point that agreeing to this would even be an option, much less an option that he would take? At what point had he allowed himself to fall this deeply in love with Francesca Pierce?

Of course, she didn't know that he loved her yet, and she probably wouldn't take it too well if he told her. Their arrangement was a bit more simple than that. She got bored on stakeouts, considering the fact that Myrmidon always gave her unlikely leads to follow due to her habit of attacking without waiting for the rest of the team and causing more trouble than was necessary.

He had often run into her during such a stakeout on his own patrols and had taken to hanging around and keeping her company. One day, it turned into something more. She was bored, after all, and she missed men, and Serendipity wasn't giving her what she needed, and she had allegedly fucked every member of her team besides Razzmatazz. He was not a part of the team, but she figured he should be included on that list. He only pretended to resist her advances, and only for about ten minutes.

So now, they had this back-alley arrangement, where whenever a night was slow, it was guaranteed they would at least fuck, if not experiment with some new kinky thing that he had not heard of and that she had never been able to convince anyone to try with her, and somewhere along the line, he had stopped internally denying the feelings that had been in development since the day they met.

But this was something more than new to him. He was a tough, scary guy- that was something that no one could deny. And yet Francesca, the only person he would ever regard as his equal, saw him not as something to be feared, but as something to be broken and controlled, and even though she was one hell of a masochist, she had taken great delight in breaking and controlling him. Many of their nights together had taken such a turn, until she had finally given him instructions so strange that he barely believed, but did not dare disobey.

She told him that the next time they met up, he was to arrive only after he had consumed a certain amount of liquid and not visited a bathroom for a few hours. For whatever reason- and he certainly could see no reason to it- she wanted to watch him piss himself during her stakeout.

And, for reasons he could see even less of, he was going along with it.

He dressed as he always did, because she had stressed that he do so and because he didn't really have many other options, and arrived in his light blue skinny jeans, black canvas shoes, a plain t-shirt, a black jacket with white sleeves, black fencing gloves, and his mask, which exposed only his jaw, his mouth, the tip of his nose, his brown eyes, and his curly black hair. He was not careless enough to leave his swords behind, even knowing that they would likely not encounter any fights tonight and that the swords would only get in the way. Being careless was not his style.

He arrived and saw the Penalty, his Francesca, standing right where he expected her, also dressed as she always did. Tall boots, tight pants, a corset, a jacket with “the Penalty” embroidered on the back, fingerless gloves, all black and all leather. She carried at least eight guns, from what he could see, and he knew for a fact there were a few knives that he couldn't see. Her bright green eyes were framed by black face paint, done up in the shape of a domino mask. She was terrifying and not at all beautiful, and she was positively stunning. He was an idiot for loving her.

“Yer late,” she said, grinning as he approached.

“Bullshit,” he replied, “I'm never late. You're just impatient. Miss me or something?”

“Not impatient, jus' horny.” She admitted this completely free of shame, just as she did all things. She neither confirmed nor denied his accusation.

“Well, we'll see what I can about that,” he said.

“Guess we will, Cutlass.” She gave him a once over, smirking to some private joke she would never tell. “Speakin' a which, I'm curious. How're ya feelin'?” He knew what she meant and she knew that he knew.

She would not be disappointed in him. He had not visited the bathroom once since he had began drinking what she told him to, and he had finished it all, polishing off one last can of soda as he had made his way over. His bladder was certainly verging on full, but he had strong endurance and had been forced to hold it many times in his career as a vigilante.

“So-so,” he said, shrugging. This was the part where things got awkward for him. He had no idea what she was expecting from him. To what extent was he supposed to go to hide it? Was he supposed to be completely open about it? Hell, was he supposed to go ahead and piss himself? He doubted the last one; she seemed like the sort who would want to drag things out.

“So-so, huh?” she asked, staring more intently at him. He squeezed his thighs together, and her eyes lit up. “Ya sure yer doin' alright? If ya wanna wait on our fun, I won't be too much. Sure seems like ya need a little break.”

She was goading him, of course, and he knew from that what she wanted. He squeezed his thighs together again and said, “Hell no, why would I? I don't take breaks, be it on the job or...during private activities.” He tapped his foot lightly.

“That so? Well, aren't you a little trooper.” She winked. “Of course, as I'm sure ya know, we are most definitely on the job right now. Still, s'gonna be a long night, and I thought ta myself 'now, what would make a night like that more enjoyable?' an' I answered myself, 'sharin' a drink with a friend of course'!”

His bladder ached a bit as held up a bottle of soda, continuing with, “Sadly, the consumption a alcohol on tha job is considered 'unprofessional', so I had ta settle for this. Seems I forgot mine, though, so I guess ya'll be havin' it on yer own.”

“Oh, don't worry about me,” he said. “If you want it, I'll be just fine without. I'm...not really thirsty.” He squirmed.

“No, no, I absolutely insist.” Her smile was easy, but the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice said that he had no choice in the matter. He had assumed as much, but resisting would increase her enjoyment. She held the bottle out to him and he opened it, cringing at the sound.

She watched eagerly as he began to drink, trying to knock back as much as he could without making himself sick. It was hard, though. His bladder was so full already, and did not seem willing to accept more liquid. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, emptying the bottle about halfway. He had to stop for a moment after that, and as he caught his breath, he also caught her staring at the way he fidgeted.

“You seem pretty focused on something, Franny,” he said with a chuckle.

“Don't call me that. And I'm jus' concerned for the health an' safety of my friend here. You sure there isn't somethin' bothering ya?”

“I'm fine.” He wasn't fine. He knew he wasn't fine and she knew he wasn't fine, and anyone who passed by would be able to tell he wasn't fine fairly quickly. The last bit of soda he had had on the way was hitting him, filling and expanding his bladder beyond its normal capacities, and what he had just drank was only going to make that worse. He could not hold still as he fought off the throbbing pressure in his lower abdomen.

He really, really had to piss, so fucking badly, and it was all her fault, but actually his own fault for going along with this ridiculous suggestion. His jeans were digging into his stomach and he could see a small bulge that he assumed was his bladder, swollen beyond belief.

With each slight movement, he felt the liquid jostle around, sloshing and trying to force its way out of him. Even with this in mind, staying still was much worse on him and he rocked back and forth, jiggling his knees. The hunger in Francesca's eyes was unmistakable as she watched him struggle, and that alone made this worth it, though he was ashamed that such a thing was true. He was really going to piss his pants for this woman, wasn't he? And while she was supposed to be on the job and he should be out on patrol, no less.

“Doncha think you should finish that soda before it gets hot?” she suggested, not even bothering to hide the teasing tone to her voice.

Cutlass gave a slight nod, not trusting his own voice. If he spoke, he would surely sound strained and give away just how close he was to losing control. He wondered how she had even come up with an idea like this or decided it was something she would enjoy sexually. Even moreso, he wondered why, of all things, she was his one weakness and had the power to make him do just about anything.

He sipped at the bottle, grimacing as he did so. He clenched a gloved fist, practically bouncing up and down as he attempted to drain the rest of the drink. He couldn't do it, and stopped again with only a fourth left. He was nearing his breaking point and he did not think he would be able to finish it before his bladder gave up on him.

“Cutlass, honey, ya seem agitated,” said Francesca, giggling like a schoolgirl, if that schoolgirl smoked two packs a day. “Yer actin' like ya don't want your soda and ya keep fidgetin'.”

“It's nothing.”

“Don't fuckin' lie ta me, kid,” she shot back. “Tell me what's wrong. Now.” He could tell by the way she looked at him that she wanted to hear him say what they both knew before the night had even begun.

“I...I really have to piss,” he mumbled.

“Oh, ya do, huh?” He noticed her fidget a bit herself, though it was most definitely caused by something different.

“I do. I have to piss real bad, I...” He blushed, not used to saying such things out loud.

“Aw, poor baby. Can't ya hold it a little longer?”

“I don't think I can,” he confessed, squirming and dropping the bottle to clench his other fist. The soda spilled on the ground, and the sound of it splashing caused a momentary lapse of control.

A spurt of piss forced its way out, dampening his underwear and causing him to whimper so pathetically that she laughed. He shoved a hand between his legs, grabbing his cock through his pants. His cheeks were a bright red beneath his mask, but he did not lessen his grip. If he did, he knew his jeans would soon be flooded. Well, they would soon be flooded no matter what he did, but this would at least be a slight delay.

“Poor little Cutlass gonna have an accident?” teased Francesca, cackling. “Doncha think that's a little pathetic? Ya gotta hold it better than that if yer serious about bein' a hero, ya know.”

“I know,” he snapped, his bladder giving a harsh spasm that left a small, dark spot on his jeans. “F-fuck...Franny, please, I gotta piss, can't I just...?”

“What did I tell ya 'bout callin' me that? Even if I was gonna let ya off easy, certainly won't now, kid.” He tuned out the harsh laughter that followed as he doubled over, tightening his hold as he lost a bit more.

He could feel her eyes on him as he fought the last legs of his losing battle, enjoying every second of his suffering. His pants were damp enough that he could almost feel it seeping through his glove. It was the end of the line and the grand climax of the evening, though certainly not the sort of grand climax he ever thought he would be sharing with any woman.

With a groan, he felt what last little bit of control he had collapse, and a torrent of piss gushed out of him, running down the leg of his jeans and soaking through his glove completely before he thought to move his hand. He looked down as the dark spot on his crotch spread, the liquid hissing as it spilled onto the concrete beneath him.

His bladder cramped as it slowly relaxed back into place, forcing out the final remnants of all he had had to drink- though, of course, the soda she had made him drink could not have been a part of that yet and he would likely have to pee again very soon. A few tiny droplets ended his stream, the puddle beneath him positively huge and his pants so soaked that they clung to his body.

He was panting as he struggled to catch his breath, but Francesca was breathing even more heavily than he was, rubbing her thighs together much like he had before, but again, it was for a very different reason. She looked more aroused than he had ever seen her, and, though he would never admit this to her or anyone else, he could almost kinda see why.

Maybe it was just the overwhelming pleasure of relief after being forced to hold so much, or maybe it was some deep rooted psychological ordeal involving him having a need for losing control, but there was a part of him that thought that he might possibly be a little bit into that.

He was snapped out of his contemplation when he heard a soft groan from Francesca and turned to see her slump against a wall, a dopey grin on her face. She reached in her pockets for her lighter and a cigarette, lighting it up as soon as it was in her mouth.

“Did you like that, Franny?” he asked, unable to help being a little smug.

“Loved it. We're definitely doin' that again sometime,” she said, sounding just a little bit dazed. “But I told ya not to fuckin' call me that.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was incredibly last minute. Like, I had the idea late last night and wrote this all in one day last minute. I don't know, I just. Stupid characters. I ship these two even though I don't write them in a relationship at any point. I'm so silly.


End file.
